The next morning, Beom Seok paced anxiously outside Rinwoo's door. The memory of the bloodstain and the broken whisper from the night before haunted him. He didn't know what to expect—a ghost, a shattered man, a locked door.
He froze when the door slid open.
Rinwoo stood there, dressed in fresh, clean robes. His hair was neatly combed, and a soft, practiced smile was placed carefully on his lips. "Good morning, Beom Seok-ah," he said, his voice light. Too light.
The smile didn't reach his eyes. And it couldn't hide the rest. His skin was pale, almost translucent, making the faint lavender shadows beneath his eyes stand out like bruises. His slender frame seemed to have diminished overnight, his shoulders narrower, more fragile, as if the slightest breeze might cause him to fold.
Beom Seok's mouth opened, but the questions stuck in his throat. Are you okay? What happened last night? They felt too heavy, too dangerous.
Before he could form a word, Rinwoo spoke again, the cheerful tone ringing just a little too brightly in the quiet morning air. "I'm so hungry. What's for breakfast?"
The ordinariness of the question was jarring. Beom Seok blinked, thrown off balance. "I... I was just about to start cooking," he stammered. "What would you like to eat?"
Rinwoo tilted his head, the picture of someone considering a pleasant dilemma. He tapped a finger on his chin. "Hmm... you know," he said, his smile widening into something that almost looked real, "it's been ages since I had a proper, spicy hot pot."
Beom Seok's hesitation was palpable. Spicy hot pot? It was a robust, communal dish, the complete opposite of the fragile, bleeding figure from last night. It felt wrong, like putting a festive costume on a grave.
But Rinwoo was looking at him with that determined, fragile smile, a silent plea in his eyes to just play along, to pretend everything was normal.
So, Beom Seok swallowed his concern and forced his own smile. "Okay," he said, his voice softer than he intended. "I'll cook it for you."
Rinwoo's smile softened at the edges, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Great! I'll help you," he said, stepping out and falling into step beside Beom Seok.
As they walked toward the kitchen, the contrast was heartbreaking: Beom Seok, solid and worried, and Rinwoo, moving beside him like a carefully assembled collection of glass and light, insisting on a normality that had already shattered, pretending a hunger for spice when his body was clearly crying out for gentleness. It was a performance of survival, and Beom Seok had no choice but to become his audience.
The dining hall of the Lee estate was steeped in a tense, silent breakfast. Daon stood near the sideboard, his arms crossed, watching with a cold, detached expression as a servant carefully arranged a tray of bland congee and steamed vegetables for his "ailing" father.
The air shifted when Eunjae entered. His steps were hesitant, his eyes red-rimmed and pleading. He stopped a few feet from Daon, the space between them feeling like a chasm.
"Daon," Eunjae began, his voice soft and frayed. "Please. Can we just talk?"
Daon's gaze remained fixed on the servant's hands, his jaw tightening. He didn't turn. He didn't acknowledge him. The dismissal was absolute and brutal.
Eunjae's composure cracked. He rushed forward, closing the distance to grab Daon's wrist. His touch was desperate. "Please, you have to believe me! I would never—"
Daon finally turned, and the look in his eyes made Eunjae flinch. It was pure, icy contempt. He wrenched his arm from Eunjae's grasp as if his touch were contaminated.
"Believe you?" Daon's voice was low, a sharp, cruel whisper meant for Eunjae's ears alone. "I believed you when no one else did. I defended you. And you repaid me by attacking my father. I have nothing more to say to you."
The words were deliberate, chosen to inflict maximum damage. They hit their mark with devastating precision. Eunjae stumbled back as if physically struck, the pain in his heart so acute it stole his breath. Without another word, Daon turned on his heel, took the tray from the wide-eyed servant, and walked out, leaving Eunjae utterly alone in the vast, opulent room.
Eunjae stood frozen, the echo of Daon's cruelty ringing in his ears. He was about to flee, to retreat to the solitude of his room, when the dining room door opened again.
Taemin walked in, his face a thundercloud of frustration. He was staring intently at his phone, jabbing at the screen. "Answer, you idiot," he muttered under his breath, his call going straight to voicemail again. Juwon hadn't answered a single call or text all morning.
He looked up, his frown deepening when he saw Eunjae standing alone in the middle of the room, looking completely shattered. Eunjae quickly turned away, but not before Taemin saw the glint of tears on his cheeks.
Taemin's own problems momentarily forgotten, he approached slowly. "Hey," he said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "What's... what's wrong?"
Eunjae just shook his head, unable to speak, wiping furiously at his eyes.
Taemin sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket. He'd heard the servants whispering all morning. "I... heard about what happened. They said you pushed Father."
Eunjae's head snapped up, fresh tears spilling over. "I never did," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "I would never, Taemin, I swear—"
Taemin held up a hand, cutting him off. He looked at Eunjae, really looked at him—at the raw honesty in his pain, so different from the calculated drama that usually filled this house.
"Look," Taemin said, taking a deep breath. "I don't know if you pushed him or not. But I know you. And you're not the type to cause trouble like that." He shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression turning cynical. "And I know my father. If someone had actually shoved him, he wouldn't be quietly resting in bed. He'd be lawyering up, holding press conferences, and making their life a living hell. The fact that he's just... lying there...?" Taemin let the sentence hang, his meaning clear. "It shows this is all just one of his dramas. You didn't do anything wrong."
The unexpected understanding, coming from the last person he expected it from, was Eunjae's undoing. A sob escaped him, and he covered his face with his hands. After the cold cruelty from Daon, Taemin's blunt, logical defense felt like a lifeline.
After a moment, Eunjae lowered his hands, wiping his tears away with the heels of his palms. He looked at Taemin, his expression one of profound gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice raw. "Thank you for... for saying that. For believing me."
Taemin just gave a short, awkward nod. "Yeah, well. This family is full of liars. It's obvious you're not one of them." He pulled his phone back out, his frown returning as he stared at Juwon's unresponsive contact. The two of them stood together in the dining hall, united by a shared, silent understanding of what it was like to love someone against the ruthless machinations of the Lee family.
The screen of Juwon's phone lit up again on his dresser. Taemin. Again. The name was a physical ache in his chest. He could see the cascade of notifications—missed calls, unread messages, each one a tiny hammer blow to his resolve.
He finished tying his tie with trembling fingers, his reflection in the mirror pale and strained. He had to ignore it. He had to. For Taemin's sake. His father's threats weren't empty; they were promises. He couldn't be the reason Taemin got hurt. He couldn't be the weak link.
But the phone kept buzzing. A persistent, pleading vibration that echoed the screaming in his own heart. He couldn't do it. He couldn't just disappear without a word. Not on Taemin.
Taking a shaky breath, he grabbed the phone and slipped into his private restroom, locking the door behind him. It was the only place he could be sure wasn't monitored. He'd seen the guards outside his bedroom door last night, their presence a constant, silent reminder of his imprisonment.
He leaned against the cold marble sink, his finger hovering over the answer button. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears that threatened to undo him, then pressed it and brought the phone to his ear.
On the other end, in the sunny morning air outside the Lee estate, Taemin nearly dropped his phone in shock when the call finally connected. He'd been mid-bite, but he shoved his plate away, scrambling to his feet and hurrying out onto the terrace for privacy.
"Juwon?!" The name burst out of him in a rush of relief and anxiety. He didn't give Juwon a second to speak. "Where have you been? I've been calling all morning! I was going out of my mind! Why weren't you answering? Are you okay? Did something happen? Talk to me, please!"
The words tumbled out, a frantic, worried torrent. It was the voice of someone who had been genuinely scared, who had imagined the worst. It was the absolute opposite of the cold, calculated cruelty Juwon had faced last night.
The sound of that familiar, caring voice, so full of unchecked concern for him, shattered Juwon's fragile composure. He slid down the wall of the restroom, landing on the cold tile floor. He brought his knees to his chest, the phone pressed hard against his ear.
He opened his mouth to speak, to offer some weak excuse, but no sound came out. Instead, a broken, ragged sob escaped him. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pain—the sound of a heart breaking in real-time. All his efforts to be strong, to protect Taemin by pushing him away, evaporated in that single, involuntary cry.
He couldn't ignore him. He couldn't pretend. The cost of the silence was too high. The truth, in that raw, unfiltered sob, was louder than any lie he could possibly tell.
The sound that came through the phone wasn't a word. It was a raw, gut-wrenching sob, so full of agony that it stole the air from Taemin's lungs. He froze on the terrace, the morning sun feeling suddenly cold.
"Juwon?" Taemin's voice was barely a whisper now, all the frantic energy gone, replaced by a dread that turned his blood to ice. "What... what happened? Talk to me. Please."
On the other end, Juwon clamped a hand over his own mouth, trying to stifle the sounds of his breakdown. He could hear Taemin's worried pleas, each one a knife twisting in the wound his father had carved. He fought for control, his body shaking with the effort, drawing in ragged, hiccupping breaths.
After a long, painful moment, the sobs subsided into a terrifying, hollow silence. When Juwon finally spoke, his voice was unrecognizable. It was flat, dead, and scraped raw.
"We need to break up."
The words landed like blocks of lead. Taemin couldn't process them. "What? Juwon, no—"
"It's stupid," Juwon continued, the words monotone, as if he were reading from a script he hated. "This whole thing. It's disgusting. Loving a man... it's wrong. I see that now."
Taemin felt the world tilt. "What are you saying? You don't mean that. That night—"
"Those night were mistake!" Juwon's voice sharpened, a flicker of desperate energy fueling the lie. "It was just... an experience. Something I wanted to try. It didn't mean anything. It was nothing."
"Juwon, stop it—"
"Never contact me again," Juwon interrupted, his tone final and utterly cold. "Don't call. Don't text. Don't try to find me. It's over."
He took a sharp, shaky breath, saving the most cruel lie for last, the one he knew would make Taemin finally let go.
"I never liked you."
The line went dead.
Taemin stood frozen on the terrace, the phone still pressed to his ear, listening to the empty dial tone. The words echoed in the silence, each one a precise, brutal strike.
Disgusting. Mistake. Didn't mean anything. Never liked you.
He slowly lowered the phone, his hand trembling. The world around him—the chirping birds, the rustling leaves—seemed to mute into a high-pitched ring. He stared blankly at the garden below, not seeing anything.
The joy of those nights, the warmth of their secret world, the feeling of being truly seen and loved—it all shattered, replaced by the icy, devastating certainty of Juwon's words. The connection was severed, not with a fight, but with a execution. And Taemin was left alone in the aftermath, utterly destroyed, believing every single, poisonous lie.
Taemin stood frozen on the terrace, the cold plastic of the phone still pressed against his ear, the dial tone a mocking buzz. I never liked you. The words echoed, a toxic loop shredding the last of his composure. He shook his head, a frantic, denial. No. It wasn't true. It couldn't be.
With trembling fingers, he redialed. The call didn't even ring. It went straight to a automated message. "The number you have dialed is—"
Blocked.
A cold dread, sharper than any anger, shot through him. This wasn't just a fight. This was a severing. Something was terribly wrong. He had to find him. He had to see him.
He turned on his heel, a man possessed, and rushed through the mansion, heading for the front entrance. His mind was a whirlwind of panic and confusion, his only goal to get to the Park estate, to demand answers face to face.
He flung the grand front door open and nearly collided with someone standing on the steps.
Nayeon.
She looked up at him, her large, expressive eyes filled with a gentle concern. She was dressed in a soft, elegant dress, a far cry from the tomboyish best friend of their childhood. She had transformed herself, hoping to finally catch the eye of the boy she'd always loved.
"Taemin-ah," she said, her voice soft. "Your father called for me again. He said we need to—"
"Not now, Nayeon," Taemin interrupted, his voice strained, his gaze already darting past her to the driveway where his car was parked. "I have to go. It's important."
He tried to step around her, but she moved slightly, blocking his path. A faint frown touched her brow. "Go where? Taemin, our wedding is in a few weeks. We haven't even bought the rings. We need to start planning something. Anything."
The mundane reality of rings and weddings felt like a suffocating weight. "I said not now!" he snapped, the panic making him harsh.
He tried to push past her again, but a new voice cut through the air, cold and authoritative, freezing him in his tracks.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Taemin slowly turned. Taekyun stood in the doorway, having followed him out. His older brother's face was pale, shadows under his eyes, but his expression was iron-hard, every inch the stern heir. The faint scent of last night's whiskey still clung to him, but his gaze was terrifyingly clear and sharp.
"I... I have something important to do," Taemin stammered, taking an involuntary step back.
Taekyun stepped down onto the driveway, closing the distance between them. He loomed over his younger brother, his glare intense and unyielding. "The only important thing you have to do today is what Father commands. And he has commanded that you accompany Nayeon. You have no choice in this matter. Do you understand me?"
The threat in his tone was unmistakable. It wasn't a suggestion; it was an order from the highest authority in their world. Taemin looked from his brother's unforgiving face to Nayeon's worried one. The frantic need to find Juwon warred with the deep-seated, conditioned fear of defying his family.
His shoulders slumped in defeat. The fight drained out of him, replaced by a numb, hollow feeling. Juwon had blocked him. His brother was barring his way. There was no escape.
"Fine," Taemin whispered, the word tasting like ash.
Nayeon watched the exchange, her concern deepening. She saw the raw pain in Taemin's eyes before he shuttered it away, the way his hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. This wasn't the happy reunion she'd imagined. Something was very, very wrong with her childhood friend. She reached out tentatively, touching his arm. "Taemin? Are you alright?"
But Taemin didn't answer. He just stood there, trapped between his family's demands and the devastating silence from the boy he loved, a prisoner in his own gilded life.
The grand foyer of the Lee estate felt like a stage after a devastating play. The main actors had exited, leaving behind only the lingering tension and one silent, furious witness.
Eunjae had watched the entire scene unfold from the top of the staircase, hidden in the shadows of the upper landing. He saw Taemin's frantic desperation, the way he tried to bolt for freedom. He saw Taekyun's cold, authoritarian intervention, crushing his younger brother's spirit with a few icy words. And he saw Nayeon's gentle, confused concern, a pawn in a game she didn't understand.
But his focus wasn't on Taemin's heartbreak or Nayeon's innocence. It was on Taekyun.
The memory of last night was seared into his mind: Taekyun, drunk and desolate, clinging to Rinwoo's scent like a lifeline. The hypocrisy was a live wire in Eunjae's chest. This man, who publicly treated Rinwoo with contempt and privately wallowed in a grief of his own making, had just orchestrated another act of control and cruelty. He didn't get to have both. He didn't get to destroy lives and then seek solace in the ghost of the one he destroyed.
As Taekyun's car pulled away and Taemin followed a hesitant Nayeon to hers, Eunjae descended the stairs. His movements were calm, but his eyes burned with a cold fire.
He found the head housekeeper overseeing the morning tidying. The woman bowed slightly. "Sir?"
Eunjae's voice was quiet, but it carried an authority that brooked no argument, an echo of Daon's own commanding tone. "I want you to assemble a team. Right now."
"Of course, sir. For what task?"
Eunjae's gaze drifted toward the hallway that led to Rinwoo's room. "You are to clean the secondary guest room. Rinwoo's old room." He paused, ensuring every word was understood. "I want it stripped. Everything. The bedding, the curtains, the carpets. Every item in the closet is to be packed and donated. The walls are to be washed, the floors scrubbed. Every surface is to be disinfected."
The housekeeper looked slightly puzzled. "But sir, it was cleaned after he—"
"No scent of his should remain," Eunjae interrupted, his voice sharpening to a point. "I want it to smell of nothing but bleach and emptiness. I want it to be a shell. As if no one has ever lived there. Do you understand? There should be nothing left for anyone to cling to."
The final words were laced with a venom the housekeeper didn't understand, but she heard the absolute command in them. She bowed again, deeper this time. "Yes, sir. Immediately."
Eunjae watched her hurry away to gather her staff. A grim satisfaction settled over him. If Taekyun wanted to drown in his own guilt and regret, he would do it without using Rinwoo's memory as his anchor. Eunjae would personally scour every last trace of his friend from this house. He would erase the very possibility of Taekyun's pathetic comfort.
It was a brutal, decisive act. A declaration of war on the hypocrisy that festered in this house. And as the servants began to move with purpose, Eunjae stood his ground, a solitary sentinel ensuring that the haunting would end, one way or another.
The morning sun filtered through the ancient trees of the shrine's garden, dappling light on Rinwoo's still form. He sat on a worn stone bench, eyes closed, face tilted slightly upwards. From a distance, he might have looked peaceful, a picture of serene contemplation. But to the two pairs of eyes watching him from the shadowed doorway of the main hall, the truth was painfully clear.
His posture was too rigid, the line of his shoulders too sharp under the thin fabric of his robes. The careful, placid expression he wore was a mask, and it was beginning to crack around the edges, revealing the exhaustion and pain beneath.
Master Hwang stroked his long beard, his ancient face etched with a deep, troubled frown. "Should we do it?" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, meant only for Beom Seok's ears.
Beom Seok flinched, his own anxiety a tight knot in his stomach. He watched Rinwoo, his friend, looking so fragile it felt like a strong wind might break him. "I... I don't think so," he stammered, shaking his head. "Maybe... maybe we should just let him be. Pressuring him yesterday only made him shout. What if we make it worse?"
Master Hwang was silent for a long moment, his gaze never leaving Rinwoo. The young man on the bench let out a sigh so deep it seemed to shake his entire slender frame.
"No," the old monk said finally, his voice firm with a sad resolve. "If we let him be, he will keep it all locked inside. He will smile for us, he will perform his duties, and he will slowly die deep down where we cannot reach him. We must let it out. We must know what demon he is fighting, or it will consume him entirely."
Beom Seok felt a chill at the words. Slowly die. He knew it was true. The bloodstain on the sleeve was proof enough.
"So... we follow the plan from yesterday?" Beom Seok asked, his voice hesitant. "The... the rice wine?"
Master Hwang gave a slow, grave nod. "Yes. Sometimes, the truth needs a key. The wine... it can loosen the locks on the heart."
Beom Seok swallowed hard, his conscience warring with his concern. "I don't think I can do it," he confessed, his voice dropping to a ashamed whisper. "I'm scared. To trick him like that... to use drink to pry into his pain... it feels wrong."
The old master looked at his young disciple, his expression not angry, but understanding. He saw the kindness in Beom Seok's heart, the reluctance to cause any more hurt.
After a thoughtful pause, Master Hwang offered a alternative. "Perhaps we do not trick him. Perhaps we simply leave the bottle where he can find it. We let him choose. We let him drink alone, in private. And we... we watch from afar. That way, he is not guarded. He is not performing for us. The walls may come down on their own."
The idea felt less like a betrayal. Beom Seok turned it over in his mind. Letting Rinwoo have the agency, the privacy, while still ensuring he wasn't alone in the aftermath.
"Let's wait for the right time," Beom Seok agreed with a sigh, the weight of their silent vigil feeling heavier than ever. "When the evening is quiet, and he feels most alone. That's when he might... reach for it."
Master Hwang gave another slow nod, his wise eyes filled with a sorrowful certainty. "Yes," he whispered. "We will wait for the right time."
Their plan was set. A quiet offering, a distant watch. A hope that the rice wine would do what their love and concern could not: force the truth to the surface before the boy they loved drowned in it.
The bridal boutique was a world of suffocating luxury. Plush white carpets, crystal chandeliers, and endless racks of gowns that shimmered under perfectly calibrated lights. It was a place meant for joy, for breathless anticipation. For Taemin, it was a gilded cage.
He stood stiffly as a smiling consultant fluttered around Nayeon, who was holding up a delicate lace sleeve to the light. "This is beautiful, don't you think, Taemin-ah?" she asked, her voice hopeful.
"Yeah. Great," he mumbled, his voice flat. His phone felt like a lead weight in his pocket. He'd checked it a dozen times in the last hour, his thumb hovering over the screen, hoping for a message, a missed call, anything from Juwon that would prove the morning's nightmare wasn't real. Nothing.
His every instinct screamed at him to run. To shove past the racks of white tulle, burst out onto the street, and hail a cab straight to the Park estate. To demand to see Juwon, to shake him until he took back every horrible, lying word.
But he was stuck. The image of Taekyun's cold, warning glare was burned onto the back of his eyelids. You have no choice. The words were chains.
Meanwhile, in a sleek, modern office high above the city, Juwon was also a prisoner.
He sat at his desk, staring blankly at a contract he hadn't read a word of. The entire world had narrowed to the silent phone on his blotter. His heart had been a frantic, hopeful drum for the first hour after his cruel performance. He'll come. He has to come. He'll know I didn't mean it. He'll know something is wrong.
Every time his office door opened, his head snapped up, a jolt of electric hope shooting through him. It was only ever his assistant or a junior executive.
With every passing minute, that hope curdled into a sickening dread. An hour bled into two. The sun shifted across the polished floor of his office.
The frantic hope began to die, replaced by a cold, heavy weight of despair. He's not coming.
Maybe Taemin had believed him. Maybe those vicious, false words had found their mark and destroyed everything. Or worse, maybe Taemin was relieved. Maybe he'd been looking for a way out, and Juwon had handed it to him on a silver platter.
The thought was a physical pain. He slumped forward, elbows on the desk, head in his hands. He had sacrificed their love to protect them, and in doing so, he might have killed it forever. He was utterly alone, and the silence from his phone was the only answer he would get.
Back in the boutique, Nayeon glanced at Taemin again. His expression was hollow, his eyes distant. He was physically present, but his spirit was somewhere else entirely—trapped in a desperate, silent plea to a boy who had blocked his number and shattered his heart.
"Taemin?" Nayeon said softly, her earlier excitement fading into concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"
He didn't even hear her. He was just… stuck.